


Sifting the Ashes

by RainySpringMorning



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Affairs, Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avoidance, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Friendship/Love, Loss of Identity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eryn Malvo found purpose, family, and kinship with the Dark Brotherhood - and then it was all taken away on one fate-changing day. Lost and unable to face the tragedies that haunt her dreams, Eryn seeks isolation from everyone and everything she knows. But Eryn cannot hide forever, because sooner or later, fate will come knocking at her door.</p><p>The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda Game Studios! All original characters and content is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I've done some editing to this story. Originally, Eryn was to join the Thieves Guild. A bit of thought and reconstructing has led to me settling on replacing the Guild with the Companions. The next chapter should be up soon - I just have to write down the story! I hope you'll stick around and enjoy the new changes.

The carriage sat abandoned at the edge of the road, the horses pulling it absent. Five Penitus Oculatus agents milled around the carriage, hefting large barrels that slopped a slimy, iridescent liquid onto the fronts of their cuirasses and onto the road, leaving shimmering trails.

Eryn Malvo crouched a mere five yards away, lying on the flat top of a rock, surveying the scene. The agents would make for an easy kill; a few shots with her bow would do the trick. The problem wasn’t what she could see, though. It was what was around the corner, or already inside the sanctuary. For the first time since Eryn had accepted Astrid’s offer to join the Brotherhood, she was doubtful of her skills and slightly afraid.

“Come on, boys!” one of the Oculatus agents shouted. “Get the rest of that oil around the entrance here. The rest of them will be out soon!” He was answered by several grunts and foul-worded mumbles. Eryn slipped off the rock, dashed out low to the ground across the road, and sprang up lightly on the rocks right over the entrance of the sanctuary. What her searching eyes found brought her hands to her mouth as she stifled a cry.

_Festus..._

“Your anger will get you nowhere,” Astrid had gently warned Eryn when she stepped out of line one time, near seven months ago, after Eryn had returned from a contract she’d messed up. “Unleash it in increments. That way, you will concentrate better and cut down your targets more efficiently.”

Eryn unsheathed her daggers, wiping her mind as Veezara had taught her to, and crept along the edge of her perch until she was sitting over an unsuspecting Oculatus agent. Eryn pushed herself of the ledge, dislodging a rock as she went, and a pair of startled brown eyes fixed on her as she dropped heavily on his shoulders and sent him toppling to the ground, her daggers embedded deeply into his chest. He never made a sound.

The rest were easy; a few well-aimed shots with her bow and a dagger across the eyes with the last. Eryn spared the barrels a mere worried glance as she rushed over to the tree to where Festus had been horrifically pinned up by at least two dozen arrows. Blood slicked his robes, already beginning to stiffen the usually-billowing fabric. His arms were eternally frozen, rising to shield himself as he helplessly succumbed to his death.

The ring on Eryn’s finger felt incredibly heavy as she rubbed tears out of her eyes, knowing the old man wouldn’t want to be pitied.

Eryn pulled herself away from Festus and carefully made her way around the pools of oil soaking into the barren earth sloping down to the Black Door. She pulled it open, wondering what she would find inside, and immediately pressed a hand over her face as a rush of stinking, arid fumes and black smoke rushed forward to meet her.

Eryn stumbled down the steps, almost forgetting to be quiet, fear beginning to build in her like a tidal wave drawing back at sea. She shielded her eyes, peering through the thick smoke, and stifled a cough. It was fortunate that she did, because she suddenly heard voices only feet away. Eryn couldn’t make out what they were saying through the roar that seemed to be shaking the sanctuary, but she could hear footsteps as they started to make for the door.

“Another one!” the one with the mustache exclaimed, drawing his broadsword. He made a feeble attempt to cut Eryn’s waist, but she spun out of the way and lunged, plunging her dagger into his neck and severing the artery. His comrade cringed as blood sprayed out wildly across his face, and Eryn dispatched him with a similar blow.

Eryn rushed to the figure she’d spotted curled in a heap on the ground, his belly torn open and his throat gaping. Veezara stared into nothingness, the second eyelid a film over his eyes. Eryn bit down hard on her lip, locking her knees so she wouldn’t fall beside him in the sickening waves of anguish that seemed to rock her. The sounds of laughter and splashing, and the memory of fishing in Lake Ilinalta in midsummer seemed an entire millennia ago.

The walls shook and rumbled, threatening to collapse, reminding Eryn that she had to hurry. Gingerly stepping over Veezara, she hurried into the main space of the sanctuary that held the forge and the pool. An angry roar startled her and she ran towards it, recognizing the sound. She caught a glimpse of dark fur and long claws; Arnbjorn fought in his werewolf form, swinging and lashing deathly blows at the surrounding Penitus Oculatus agents.

And no sooner than Eryn had glimpsed the warrior, one Oculatus agent gained the upper hand and delivered a lethal strike, slicing off Arnbjorn’s head. The jaws of the werewolf still roared, tumbling down hairy shoulders and falling to the ground with a wet-sounding plop.

Eryn halted, her heart falling into her stomach. The Oculatus agents were shocked, almost guilty, as Eryn’s distressed shriek cut through the explosions of rock and wood. They recovered from their hesitation and charged towards her, only to meet a whirlwind of blades and tears that left them pouring their lifeblood into the cracks of the ground, dripping into the pool and turning the water scarlet.

 _See ya around, beef roast_.

Eryn found Gabriella was next, bent backwards over the table in the alchemy center where she, Babette, and Fetus had spent their time discussing alchemic properties and combining spells to make new ones. Eryn had eventually come to see Gabriella as one of her closest friends, telling jokes and singing Dark Brotherhood-inspired versions of bard songs. Now, the Dunmer lay with her arms flung out, a pair of swords driven through her middle, pinning her to the surface of the table. Eryn let out an awful cry and grasped the swords tearing them free, before gathering Gabriella’s limp form up in her arms and sobbing into the hanging neck. _“Gabriella!”_ she wailed miserably, pleading the light to return to the flat red eyes and for her to say something, to do _anything_.

Eryn glimpsed spidery legs stretching up desperately from the pit, the only spider in the world that she hadn’t been afraid of, and she felt her tears renew just as they had begun to dry. _Lis… Gabriella... Festus… Veezara… Arnbjorn…_ The names were a white-hot chain whipping her, flaying her to the bone. It was too much.

Eryn found the strength to pull herself away from her friend, her _sister_ , and took a moment to gently lay her out across the table. She smoothed her arms and legs out, then gathered a crisped bunch of herbs and wilted flowers, and placed them on the bloody center of Gabriella’s chest.

Then, she heard it. The cry – a yell for help. Eryn shoved herself away from the table and ran, dodging low beams caught afire, crying out to find her way to where the yelling the coming from. She found its source at the top of the stairs in the dining hall.

“Nazir!” Eryn shouted. She prepared her bow with an arrow, sighting to kill the pair of Oculatus agents against the Redguard, when a heavy blow struck the side of her head. The arrow shot free, uselessly arcing into a ball of fire climbing its way up the edge of the stairs.

“Raargh!” the Oculatus agent snarled, coming at Eryn again, broadsword rising defiantly. Eryn dodged and ducked, missing the silver blade by inches, and felt her thighs bump against the wall. The Oculatus agent smirked.

“I’ve a Dark Brotherhood trapped in a corner? Wait until the boys hear this one,” he jeered. Eryn ground her teeth, then spotted her dagger on the floor just behind him. As the Oculatus agent hurled himself forward, Eryn dove to the ground and through his legs, snatching up the dagger and rolling neatly. She threw it and watched the blade catch itself on the Oculatus’ cheek before clattering to the ground once more.

“Eryn!” Nazir cried from above. He was unable to reach her. The stairs had been engulfed in furious flames, eating the wood hungrily.

“What are ye gonna do now, pretty kitten?” the Oculatus agent taunted, slowly drawing closer to the crouching Dark Brotherhood member. Eryn regarded him coldly, thoughtfully, and spotted an ordinary steel dagger hanging at his hip. _If I could…_

“Come on, pretty kitten.”

_Now!_

Eryn bounced, thrusting herself up and slamming her elbow into the Oculatus agent’s gut. He began to double over, retching painfully, and Eryn unsheathed the dagger. She wasted no time, but just enough to respond, “I’ll do _this!_ ” She raised her arms and plunged the dagger into the back of the Oculatus agent’s neck, severing through the vertebrae of the bone and letting him collapse at her feet.

“Eryn! Eryn, hurry!” Nazir cried. Eryn hurried for the combusting stairs and paused, surveying the flames nervously. This was the only way up, the only way she could hope to escape. She’d gone along unscathed until now… until now.

“Eryn, you have to do it!” Nazir bellowed. “Run, girl! _Run!_ ”

Eryn obeyed.

The wood creaked and snapped under her boots and the flames licked at her thighs, scorching through the leather. The fire stung her skin and kissed her flesh, and Eryn heard someone screaming in agony. She was so overcome by adrenaline that she couldn’t register the sound coming from her own, smoke-stained throat.

Everything went black for a moment and when Eryn came to, she found herself sitting on the floor of the sleeping quarters, surrounded by a wall of flame, watching timber fall where her feet had pounded across mere second ago. Nazir was beside her, tugging her arm, his determined words coming as a murmur to Eryn’s ears. She stared out across the sanctuary, shocked and eerily cold. _So much loss… so much…_

“I know, girl. I know,” Nazir replied gently, helping her to her feet. Eryn hadn’t realized she’d spoke aloud. The Redguard regarded her with tenderness, stroking her cheek soothingly, before plopping a hand down on her shoulder and asking, “How about we try to find a way out of this mess now, huh?”

“Alright,” Eryn spoke numbly. She felt funny, like she couldn’t quite get a hang of what was happening. Her words felt wrong and she felt disoriented. She didn’t know she was in shock. Nazir seemed to know, because he was comforting and gentle, urging her along with careful questions, making sure Eryn was able to say a clear yes or no before acting. Through the walls of fire they went, the Redguard shielding the blank-faced Imperial girl, until the Night Mother spoke.

Her words felt like a snap of lightning up the spine, and Eryn reacted like so. The Night Mother ordered her to come to her, to embrace her… _it is the only way_.

Eryn pulled free from Nazir’s arms and let her feet carry her, trance-like, down twisting hallways to the metal chamber. She stepped inside, the smell of bone and fragrant oils filling her nostrils, and the doors closed shut behind her. _Sleeeeep_ , a rasping murmur spoke, and Eryn felt her eyes grow heavy and her senses lull against her will. Even her will found the ability to obey.

The next thing Eryn knew was that she was falling, sailing through wind and fire, before finding solace in a heady, induced slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a fond fan of TESV, I have to admit that I never wanted to play an assassin-type character. I'm a thief at heart. So when my mom decided to give the Dark Brotherhood arc a try, I was taken by surprise at how good a storyline it turned out to be. I couldn't get the memory of seeing the sanctuary all engulfed in flame and steadily falling apart, and I was motivated to begin writing a little story that turned into this - Eryn Malvo, an Imperial girl who loses her family and later finds a new one in the Thieves Guild - only to gradually start to lose her mind at the prospect of anything happening to them. Whether she'll find love or not hasn't really been decided.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I had fun writing it (if you can call killing off characters that quickly become favourites "fun"). I'll try to have another chapter up here as quick as I can, but I do have a couple others to remain loyal to. Thanks so much for reading!


	2. Menial Efforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set three months after the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood. Eryn has been living on her own, seeking isolation, in order to try and forget the horrors of the Penitus Oculatus attack (there is a brief flashback that suggests exactly how Eryn snapped and made that decision to leave).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those expecting to have seen her head to Riften and join the Thieves Guild, I felt it would have been more suitable for Eryn to be pulled into a situation she would have never chosen. It would have also made not much sense if she joined the Guild, because Delvin is there, and that is a "connection" to the family she just lost. I'm sorry if this is a disappointment to those returning to this story (also, I am sorry about not having updated this sooner). I have bigger and much better plans in mind for Eryn, and I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.

The hoarse call of a crow cracked like a whip through the pines, startling the young elk at the end of Eryn’s notched arrow. In a flurry of bobbing white tail and a warning bleat, the buck disappeared into the misty gloom of the bluish pines. Eryn relieved the tension on her bowstring and groaned, her head tilting back on her aching neck muscles. This hunting business was clearly not her forte, and the pangs of hunger in her belly weren’t helping her concentration any.

Knowing that the crow would have alerted every beast between herself and the end of the forest, Eryn slung the bow across her shoulders and continued on, twiddling the steel-tipped arrow between her fingers. The Imperial watched patterns of light throw themselves across the carpet of pine needles and churned up foliage, surprisingly soft under her fur boots, but on bare skin she would have felt every prickle.

She passed a pool and though better of it, returning to crouch at its edge and peer into its depths. Tiny fishes – anything from silverside perches to river betties – darted between the tangled reeds among the bottom, their scales glittering when the sun caught them. Eryn’s focus adjusted and she caught sight of her face.

It was a steely glare that was reflected back at her. Wintery green eyes as pale as the sea on a clear day, framed by dark lashes and narrowed beneath sharp brows. Tangled blonde locks had been grown out once again and tied back hurriedly with a string. A line of raised, pinkish skin angled from below her right eye across her nose to her cheek; it was recent and still stung when she touched it. A close encounter with an angry hunter, she recalled. The hunter whose campsite she had fought for when she finally realized that she had _nowhere_ to go.

Eryn splashed the cool water on her face, disrupting the fishes’ lazy circles, and hesitantly remembered her last day with the Brotherhood. It was a memory she’d rather forget, a day she’d never wish to have to think of again, an experience she’d rather carve from her mind and leave to turn to dust. When she’d believed the worst was behind her, staring up at the smoke-filled ruins and choking on the smell of roasted flesh – the bodies of friends and foes – the Night Mother had asked one last thing of her. One last, terrible thing.

And Eryn had listened, because what else could the Listener do… but _listen?_

…

_The Blade of Woe slipped from Eryn’s fingers, clattering to the floor, as she staggered away from the circle of winking candle lights. A muffled cry of anguish ripped from her core. Blood gleamed on the dark blade, the same blood that pooled around the charred remains of Astrid._

_“Eryn,” Nazir reached out for the Imperial but she skittered away, her bloodied hands sinking into her smoke-stained hair, her teeth gritted tightly as she fought back tears. She breathed harshly through her running nose, her head spinning with sick terror, and she felt something crack inside. A howl of agony escaped her and she fell to her knees. “Astrid!” her cry was ragged._

_Babette and Nazir looked on in fear and concern as she rapidly descended towards madness, shaking in the smoke, her hands slick with blood. Neither of them spoke, both of them looked away. Astrid’s glazed eyes stared back at them, haunting them forever, her final pleas dead on her blackened lips._

_And then, Eryn flung back her head and screamed._

…

A lone wolf howled, and his call was taken up by two others, voices singing mournfully through the trees.

Eryn heard something else, a nearby crackle. She raised her head, face tingling with moisture, but she saw nothing around her. Nevertheless, the Imperial got to her feet and started walking again, listening to the noises of the forest around her.

Her trek led her to an old cave with a stream splashing along outside of the entrance. Shadows seemed to dance about the doorway, as though they were watching. Eryn couldn’t remember having ever seeing the place before. She considered venturing inside but before her fingers could push aside the door and enter, a thin scream made her head whip around.

“Help me!” someone cried in the distance. Eryn pulled her bow off of her back and followed the voice, keeping low in the shelter of brush and ferns, gradually drawing close enough to hear the sounds of a person being pursued. She followed the path until she came to a clearing, its trees all chopped down, the grass lush and thick. Not too far ahead was a group of men – Orcs, to be precise – attacking a woman in a blue dress.

Eryn had dealt with these Orcs before. They were holed up in Cracked Tusk Keep, which she was fairly certain was just beyond the clear-cut grove. Many a time she had been hunting and her pursuits had brought her too close. Eryn had fought them several times only to be driven away, but now, Eryn figured it wouldn’t be too hard to pick off a couple of the Orcs and draw them away so she woman could run. Being distracted as they were, it would give Eryn the opportunity to thin out the pack and make hunting a whole lot easier.

Unfortunately, Eryn’s plan was better said than done. Her arrows bounced right off of the Orcs’ reinforced armour and they were surprisingly quick to figure out where the source of the useless attacks was originating from.

One of the Orcs gained the upper hand on the woman and gutted her, grinning savagely as he did so. The woman’s frightened cry cut off and the Orc let her drop to the ground, a bloody pile of soulless flesh. The other four came charging across the grove to where Eryn had tossed her bow aside and had drawn a steel sword and knife. She rose to the challenge, a rush of adrenaline charging through her blood like before every battle, and she met the first Orc’s blade with a determined yell.

Hack, slash, dodge, then dart in again. The pattern looped and changed, Eryn taking every strike with practiced precision and avoiding every deadly jab. She and the Orcs danced across the clearing, their eyes flashing with fury as they recognized her from earlier assaults, and it only made their blows meaner. Eryn whirled around between them as fast as she could, her breath coming fast, her arms and chest aching as she defended herself at all corners. Logic said she couldn’t keep it on for long; the wicked desire for battle gave her a fool’s determination.

Blood sprayed into Eryn’s eyes as her knife sliced across one of the Orcs’ faces, a ribbon of red parting the olive flesh. He stumbled away from the fight, howling. Eryn kicked her foot off his behind and propelled herself towards one of the bigger Orcs, her rage fueled by his racist taunts. She simply spat them back at him, her blades aiming for his broad, painted chest. Eryn squinted through the blood dripping into her eyes and gained a moment of distance, sucking in several deep breaths. Then, she was back at it again, clashing and slashing with an assassin’s fury.

An arrow nailed the smallest of the three standing Orcs, driving into the side of his head and dropping him like a hot potato. Eryn registered the gleaming black feathers of the arrow jutting from his skull before she darted out of way of a swinging war hammer. The chunk of spiked metal embedded itself into the earth, and the Orc grunted as he pried it free.

Turning to the largest of the Orcs, the one that had left a deep cut on her arm the week before, Eryn attacked him with a weakening fury. It was difficult to concentrate between the war hammer-wielding Orc and this one, and to put aside her tire, but she didn’t the best she could. Any less, and she would either end up with a hammer as a fifth limb or a sword pierced through her middle.

Too late, Eryn glimpsed the body of the gutted woman. She attempted to step over her but lost sight of where she was. Eryn’s boot collided with the corpse and she swung forward, crashing to the ground. She rolled immediately, narrowly missing the _thud_ of the war hammer. She glimpsed the biggest Orc towering over her, and the sword in his hands was a downwards blur. Eryn’s heart crashed in her ears.

“Arrrgh!” Eryn cried out as the orcish sword bit into her ribs. Pain was like a whiplash, binding her closely to a white-hot fire that burned like Oblivion. Her eyes went wide, taking in the horrific sight of the Orc booming with menacing laughter above her, and she felt every muscle tense, awaiting the final blow. The death blow. The permanent end of her life. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t even think…

All Eryn _could_ do was watch the massive Nord warrior charge in with a roar, cleaving off the Orc’s still-laughing head with a single swing of his greatsword.

The sound of an arrow let fly cut through the air and the war hammer-wielding Orc slumped to the ground beside Eryn, his glazing eyes glaring at her. Eryn looked away, seeking who she hoped were rescuers and not bandits with a score to settle. Two forms appeared overhead, looking down at Eryn with shrouded faces, and she abruptly lost consciousness.


	3. A Beast and his Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it's a fairly small chapter, it's necessary, and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading!

Someone was carrying Eryn.

Her temple was pressed against a breastplate. She could clearly see a little wolf’s head attached below the collar. It seemed to mock her, _laughing_ instead of snarling at its foe.

The rocking motion was making her feel queasy, and every nerve in Eryn’s body seemed to crackle with electricity as she struggled to see and understand what was going on. Who had her? Where was she being taken? A deep, rumbling voice she didn’t at all recognize told her it was okay, and while Eryn didn’t want to believe whoever _he_ was, her mind betrayed her and tugged her back down into a warm lull.

…

Eryn didn’t expect to feel the plush comfort of furs and blankets when she stirred awake for a second time. She sunk her hands into the warm pelts, recognizing the wavy thickness of sabre cat and the wiry guard hairs of wolf. Eryn could smell the pungent richness of mead, the overpowering odour of man and sweat, and fainter smells of food, smoke, and the very clear absence of the outdoors – something Eryn had become accustomed to during her three-month attempt at living off the land.

Her eyes opened slowly.

Sure enough, burnished copper bottles inhabited every shelf alongside gleaming trinkets and other baubles. Coin purses filled a large bowl on a table and weapons – mostly greatswords – were mantled on the walls, broken or twisted from heavy use. It was like a treasure trove.

Eryn remained still, breathing shallowly, listening for movement or voices. She didn’t know where she was or why she was in someone’s room. She could remember the fight with the Orcs but it all ended there. She took a sharp breath, alarmed that she may be a captive of theirs, and a burst of searing pain rippled from her side as her chest expanded.

Her torso was padded and wrapped firmly, securing her aching ribs. Eryn ran her fingers over the clean linen wrap, glimpsing small splotches of blood over where it hurt the most. Someone had taken care of her. She assumed this was their home. Eryn figured that she was still in Skyrim; the choice of weaponry and décor made that clear. She didn’t know whether to be relived about that or not, though.

A door shut and people laughed. Eryn startled, wincing slightly as she jumped. Someone was coming! Eryn felt a fluttering at the base of her throat, her eyes darting as she sought a place to hide. She knew she couldn’t move in time, not like this, so she opted for the second-best choice and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. As footsteps and a deep, masculine voice sounded outside the door of the bedroom, Eryn fought to steady her breathing.

 _Ca-clunk_. A large figure walked across the room, footsteps heavy, slow under the weight if heavy armour. Nervous, Eryn listened to the usual sounds of a person entering their quarters; shuffling around, putting things away, a bit of grunting and muttering. She was amused and anxious at the same time.

Eventually, Eryn let her eyes slide open to thin slits. She couldn’t help herself.

It was the Nord warrior. She recognized him instantly, even with his back turned. His hair was thick and grown out to his shoulders, the deepest shade of brown possible, and he was _big_. Strong muscles strained beneath pale skin and the armour he’d donned was sturdy and hung off the man like he was born to wear it. Eryn glimpsed the snout and jaws of the little wolf on the front.

“You can try all you want, but I know you’re awake,” the warrior suddenly said and he directed his pale, stormy gaze to Eryn. She held his eyes with her own, placing all of her courage and vehemence into her stare.

“Where am I?” she demanded, but her voice disappointed her. It was no louder than a raspy whisper.

“Jorrvaskr,” the warrior replied. “I’m Farkas.”

“Why am I here?”

“You got into trouble with those bandits,” he explained. “You were injured. But you also interfered with our mission, and people died because of it.”

 _He must be talking about the woman._ “I didn’t realize I was getting in the way…”

“Well, you did,” a new voice spoke up and Eryn, much to her amazement, watched a second Farkas stride into the room. She immediately corrected herself; he was of a slightly smaller build and his hair was shorter in length, but his eyes carried a ferocity only those hardened by the toughest of battles possessed. This other man, whom she guessed was Farkas’ twin brother, shrugged and crossed his arms. “We didn’t bring you here out of the kindness of our hearts, but we weren’t going to leave you to bleed to death out there. You forfeited our pay, and you’re going to make up for that.”

“And how exactly will I do that?” Eryn asked, outraged. “It’s not my fault that stupid woman got gutted! You should have been faster if your _pay_ was so important.”

His eyes flashed menacingly and he started to take a step forward, but Farkas placed a hand on his shoulder in warning. “Vilkas, leave her alone. She didn’t know.” Vilkas turned his glare to his brother and Eryn was grateful of it. What the smaller warrior lacked in height or muscle, he made up for with his intimidating presence.

“Kodlak will speak with her soon enough,” Vilkas concluded. He shook off his brother’s hand and stalked out of the room. Eryn compared his attitude to that of a mangy wolf’s, but she didn’t dare tell him. Farkas offered Eryn an apologetic smile.

“Sorry ‘bout that. My brother can be as friendly as a bear sometimes.” An angry “humph!” echoed from the hall. “When your wound is healed, you can talk to Kodlak.” Farkas made to leave but Eryn asked – because she didn’t know: “Who’s Kodlak?”

Farkas looked surprised, shocked even. “Kodlak Whitemane is the Harbinger of the Companions. His word is respected across Skyrim, and Tamriel. He’s an important and very respected warrior.”

“So… would this _Kodlak_ be willing to listen to me?”

The warrior seemed confused. Eryn guessed his brother had the brains.

“About not having to pay for messing up your job…? That’s what I mean.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “Maybe it was your fault. Maybe it was ours. Kodlak _did_ say that you had to stay until all this was dealt with.”

“Did he now?” Eryn narrowed her eyes and looked away. She was frustrated and upset, and she was growing tired from getting nowhere. Sleep started to tug at the corners of her eyes and her heart suddenly wasn’t in it anymore. “Fine. I’ll stay and talk to Kodlak.”

“Good,” Farkas was relieved. “Go to sleep. You look like you need it.”

Eryn couldn’t agree more, as she was already out.


	4. The Harbinger

Low voices could be heard from within Kodlak Whitemane’s chambers, and Eryn did her best to not eavesdrop whilst anxiously waiting until she was welcome to enter. The worn carpet beneath her bare feet felt rough, and she consciously rubbed her toes between the little holes the woven fabric had gathered over time. Farkas was beside her, but Eryn knew the warrior was only standing there to keep an eye on her. Eryn could have bolted if she wanted, but her wounded state wouldn’t allow her to get much farther than the end of the hall.

She didn’t think that trying to escape was such a good idea, anyways, considering that she was beneath an ancient mead hall swarming with warriors whose coordination and knowledge of the place exceeded hers by far.

The door to Kodlak’s chambers was flung open and Eryn jumped, turning quickly, hoping she would present herself as half-decent. She’d donned a few pieces of Farkas’ clothing; the smallest pair of trousers she could whip up kept slipping off her hips, and the oversized linen shirt either showed more cleavage than Eryn was comfortable with displaying to strangers, or liked to fall off one shoulder. Doing up the laces proved useless.

But coming face to face with Vilkas and watching his eyes grow cold as they passed over her made Eryn feel more naked than a newborn baby, and just as vulnerable.

“We shall speak more on the subject later, my good lad,” an elderly voice said within the room. Eryn glimpsed a man seated across the room with a journal opened before him. Vilkas grunted and pushed by Eryn without a word, and Farkas gave Eryn a short nod before following him. The Imperial listened to their receding footsteps for a moment, struggling with the urge to fling rude words at Vilkas’ back, and settled with stepping into the chambers and shutting the door quietly.

“H-hello, sir,” Eryn’s voice shook. The elderly man looked up from his writings and Eryn was bestowed the vison of a tired warrior, an old man, eyes gleaming with the light of Sovngarde. Kodlak Whitemane held Eryn’s gaze for a moment, then he smiled, and the tired old man disappeared in the folds and wrinkles of battle-scarred skin.

“Why hello,” Kodlak closed his journal and set it aside. “Come and sit with me, if you please.”

Suddenly feeling the urge to be respectful, Eryn carefully walked across the room and seated herself across from the Harbinger. The chair was warm, recently occupied. She found it difficult to meet his gaze again but forced herself to. Eryn saw a thousand generations of war and a lifetime of pain in Kodlak’s eyes, so raw and unhidden that it made her throat tighten nervously.

“Farkas told me that your name is Eryn. Is that right?”

“E-Eryn, uh… yes. Eryn Malvo is my name.”

“And you are a Nord?”

Eryn blinked. “Um, no. No, I’m an Imperial.”

Kodlak’s eyebrows flew up at this, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. “An Imperial? Forgive me, lass. Your fair features are deceiving. You look as much a Nord as I look an old man.” He laughed, not unkindly, then sat back and considered Eryn carefully. She felt very small under the Harbinger’s eye, but there was a dismissive analysis and a tenderness that made her feel oddly at rest. Eryn felt her eyes wander, exploring the neatly-arranged chambers as she waited.

“I hear you got into some trouble with the bandits occupying Cracked Tusk Keep and took an injury. Is it healing well?” Kodlak asked her. Eryn nodded.

“Good, good. It’s a shame the same cannot be said for the woman Farkas and his brother were sent to rescue. Do you know much about the Companions, Eryn?”

“No, sir.”

Kodlak waved his hand dismissively. “You must have heard Vilkas in here. There’s no need to call me anything but Kodlak. I may be Harbinger, but am no more or less than any other warrior,” he insisted. “But about the Companions. We are dedicated to relieving situations that may be problematic across the holds. Escaped criminals, kidnappings, property disturbances, robberies. We handle what the common guards cannot, and we aim to keep the peace.”

“Peace by fighting,” Eryn smirked. “Sounds like the war out there.”

“The Companions are not tied to the war, and politics are something best avoided, as we have avoided for many generations. The Empire, the Legion, Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion… they can keep to themselves and go on about their damnable war so long as it does not interfere with or endanger my warriors,” Kodlak snapped. “All those young lives being thrown away, our sons and daughters raising a sword and shield in someone else’s honour, but for what? It’s a fool’s war; two children fighting over a toy in the garden. I prefer to stay out of it and look at more pressing matters.”

Eryn let Kodlak’s words sink in. As a Dark Brotherhood assassin, nothing mattered more than eliminating the given targets and respecting her family – at least during Astrid’s rule. The ways of the Companions were vastly similar, but they chose to fight on the side of honour and glory. Or, at least they believed they did. A criminal herself, Eryn realized that if she were still living the life she had lost, the man across from her would have been a foe.

Eryn knew at once that mentioning her origins was best to be avoided.

“And speaking of those matters,” Kodlak continued. “I believe you are aware that you owe us something of a debt for assisting you?”

“I tried to help her,” Eryn insisted. Kodlak shook his head.

“I know. I can see the truth in your eyes, believe me,” he patted the air, hushing her. “The brothers told me what happened, and I understand that it is not your fault the lass died. Nor was it theirs. What we are asking of you is to simply… _repay_ us for what they sacrificed in order to get you here. Eryn,” Kodlak’s gaze hardened. “You do not remember coming here, do you?”

“No, why? What happened?”

“When Farkas brought you to me, many of us feared you would die. Vilkas informed me that you lost a great deal of blood and remained unconscious for much of the journey back to us. There was also the matter of your hallucinations,” Kodlak added. There was something about the look on his face that made Eryn’s skin crawl. He knew something she didn’t, and it made her tense.

“What did I do?” Eryn whispered.

“Well, I was not present the moment you came through those doors. I found you thrashing about on the floor and shouting about something ominous,” Kodlak told her. “You mentioned something about traitors and fire. When you seemed to come to, you kept repeating, “They’re all ashes”. I would not expect you to remember, as you slept for half a fortnight without so much a whisper afterwards.”

Eryn had slumped forward in her chair, her head in her hands. She couldn’t recall any of it, but Kodlak’s words were not a lie. No one knew, and no one would understand unless she explained. Eryn could hear her heart thumping in her ears, and the memory of cloying smoke and… and…

“Wait, I’ve been here for over a week?” Eryn raised her head. “I thought it was just a couple of days…”

“No,” Kodlak chuckled. “You’re been with us for a while. Some of us are eager to meet you while… others are not. Once you feel up to it, you are welcome to introduce yourself to them when you start working.”

 _Working?_ The confusion must have been clear on Eryn’s face because Kodlak laughed. It was a deep and hearty sound. “Aye, young lass. You will be helping out around Jorrvaskr until we all deem you paid your debt. Now don’t worry, I won’t push you to the point that you cause further damage to that wound of yours,” Eryn sighed deeply then winced. It felt as bad as a broken rib.

“How long do I have to stay here?’ Eryn asked in a small voice.

“You are no prisoner here, Eryn Malvo. I only intend for you to remain here for as long as _you_ think is necessary.” Kodlak picked up his journal, signalling that it was time for her to go, then amusedly added, “For one, go choose a bed in the main sleeping quarters. I believe that Farkas would like to have his bed back tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have probably given you all a clearer idea of what Eryn looks like, since this chapter brings up the fact that she looks like a Nord. In my mind, Eryn resembles a younger, willowy Astrid - except that she's much paler in every aspect (hair, skin, eye colour). You are all welcome to "create" her as you want, but that's just a rough idea of how she appears in my mind.
> 
> But setting that aside - Thank you for reading, as always! :)


	5. Tip of the Knife

“Malvo, get me an ale.”

Eryn’s fingers clenched around the broom handle and she spun on her heel, watching Vilkas walk past her. He was covered with dirt, grime, and blood from head to toe, he walked with a limp, and he stank like a stable. But Eryn didn’t care. She was at the end of her rope and she wasn’t taking _anymore_ shite today.

“Get it yourself,” she retorted coldly. The warrior halted and gave her a look cold enough to turn blood to ice, but Eryn was running hotter than a forge. “You aren’t going to boss me around like I’m some lowly maid. The last time I checked this wasn’t a tavern.

“Why don’t you ask _Ria_ to get you your stupid ale? She’s practically hanging off the end of your cock as it is,” Eryn added the sneer. It felt mighty great to say it, but she regretted it immediately when Vilkas’ teeth clacked loudly and he stormed towards her. The Imperial clutched the broom, ready to defend herself.

“ _Vilkas!_ ” a sharp order cut across the mead hall. It was Skjor. The enraged Nord stopped mere inches away from Eryn. She could feel the pent-up fury blasting off of him in waves. She looked down, trying to keep from bursting out in insane laughter – the kind of laughter that came with absolute terror.

“Downstairs. Now,” Skjor commanded. Eryn glanced up, peering out from beneath the strands of hair that had freed themselves from her slipping bun, and she found Vilkas still standing above her. The thunderous rage on his face had settled to a quiet disapproval. To her surprise, Vilkas jerked his head in a sharp nod to her and strode away, back rigid beneath his gear. The limp was a little more obvious now that Eryn was paying attention.

 _Must have been a bad fight_ , she thought. She quickly shook her head. _At least it’s not_ me _out there getting hacked apart by gods know what._

About a month ago, Eryn’s taunts had been few and far between, but she managed to nail them all at the right times. Quick retorts or snide comments slipped past her lips whenever the smaller of the twins was around giving her filthy glares or bossing her about. Vilkas was literally begging for it, so Eryn gave it to him, and she didn’t pull any punches when she did. The tension had grown harsher and meaner between them as the days ticked by; it thickened substantially with every load of wood Eryn hacked her way through to every carpet she flapped out to every floor or dish or bit of bedding she cleaned.

Growing frustrated with her daily chores and the lack of acknowledgment for making Jorrvaskr look as grand as the Blue Palace, Eryn wondered how long until she would be allowed to leave. She wasn’t a prisoner, Kodlak had said, but Eryn knew that she was one until he sent her on.

The truth was, Jorrvaskr was starting to become a familiar place. She had a warm bed at night and a couple of meals to look forward to everyday, a definite step-up from hunting and sleeping in the wilds. And she had a purpose that went beyond _just_ trying to stay alive. She had _something_ there, and while she was bent on evading the truth, Jorrvaskr was starting to become a little more than a mead hall.

But it was days like today, when Eryn stepped too far out of line, or when she wasn’t appreciated for her hard work, that she wanted to throw her arms in the air, say “Screw it all to Oblivion!”, and return to that miserable little life of chasing deer and being chased by vengeful bandits.

Vilkas disappeared down the stairs, Skjor on his heels, and Eryn heard the first words of an argument drifting up from below. Sighing tiredly, Eryn finished sweeping by the front door and put the broom away. Savouring the cozy idea of a book and drink by the grand hearth, she had just begun untying her ruined bun when a different pair of hands brushed hers away and gathered the blonde locks, weaving them into a braid. Those same hands glided down the sides of her neck and started kneading her aching shoulders; Eryn groaned, melting under the big warm hands that loosened every little knot.

“Y’know, it should be you rubbing _my_ shoulders,” Farkas rumbled behind her. Eryn laughed quietly, feeling a trickle of guilt, and turned to look at the big Nord. He was smiling, but he looked just as filthy and unkempt as Vilkas.

“I’m not here for those kinds of services,” Eryn stated, although not without a smile. The same pale eyes set in a harsh face riddled with wounds and dirt, seemed a thousand times different than that of the twin’s downstairs. Eryn realized that of all the people in Jorrvaskr, it was Farkas who she found herself able to crack a smile in front of. He just had that way of warming up to those who especially didn’t want to be pitied or offered friendship.

“But your brother obviously thinks I am,” Eryn added. Farkas snorted and clomped down the steps, heading to the grand table and taking two bottles of mead. Eryn grinned and took the one he offered, but didn’t drink from it. Instead, she rolled the glass between her palms, thinking.

“Was he mean to you?” Farkas asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Do you think I’ve outlived my stay here?” Eryn blurted.

“No,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You’re a guest. Kodlak let you stay.”

“To do what?” Eryn stopped rolling the bottle. “Play house servant? Clean for the rest of my life with Tilma? It’s been a month-”

“Then leave.”

Eryn hadn’t expected that, and she didn’t reply. She didn’t even look up. Maybe she wasn’t wanted here. The thought stung, and a sick feeling of abandonment started to drive a sudden wedge between her reasons for staying.

“Farkas!” Aela’s voice rang out, shattering the growing silence. “A word.” Eryn could see the red-haired huntress waiting at the stairs. Farkas smiled lightly to Eryn and brushed by her, a distracted air about him, leaving her standing alone in the mead hall with a warm bottle of mead clutched between her sweating fingers.

_Should I...?_

“You too, Malvo.” Eryn startled. Aela was waiting for her. “Come on. I haven’t got all day to wait for you to make up for mind.”

“Coming!” Eryn said. She brushed off the front of her skirts and hurried across the hall, muttering a soft sorry under her breath. Aela just hummed and followed Eryn down into the sleeping quarters.

“Go talk to Kodlak,” Aela directed. Eryn noticed several of the Companions hovering around, their heads cocked towards her. “He requested to see you.”

“Is something wrong?” Eryn started to ask but Aela gave her a little shove, a smirk coiling around her lips. “Just go.”

The door to Kodlak Whitemane’s chambers seemed an awful long ways away, pulling further and further down the hall as Eryn approached. She stopped outside and raised her hand to knock, then glanced over her shoulder, self-conscious. The hall had emptied and Aela was nowhere to be seen. It seemed strange to Eryn, but she went to knock.

“But I still hear the call of the blood,” Vilkas’ concerned words echoed inside the chambers and Eryn froze as Kodlak replied with a similarly eerie, “We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.”

 _What are they talking about?_ Eryn wondered. She swallowed the nervous ball in her throat and pressed her ear to the door, curiosity clamping around her like disease.

“You have my brother and I, obviously,” Vilkas continued. “But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.” These words sent an ominous chill down Eryn’s spine and she immediately assumed they were talking about her. Judging by his earlier words, Eryn had the sick feeling that there was a plot to rid of her. She longed to pull away from the door but she was frozen in place, forced by some cruel hand to listen.

“Leave that to me,” Kodlak said. Silence ensued and Eryn closed her eyes, steeling herself, then lifted the handle. The door creaked open and both Nords’ heads swung to see her.

“Ah, Eryn. Aela sent you to me?” Kodlak smiled, all traces of his previous dire seriousness vaporizing upon seeing her. Eryn nodded but didn’t approach either of them. Her hackles were up, her cautious mannerisms probably as clear as day. She met Vilkas’ eyes and saw wariness slide across his face.

“Is something wrong?” Kodlak seemed genuinely concerned.

 _Yes, something is definitely wrong, based on the conversation you were just having,_ Eryn wanted to say but she shook her head. It took a lot of courage to walk into the chambers without a weapon, but she could see the beautiful golden blade locked in the display case to her right. A slam of her fist ought to break the glass, despite a few cuts, but it was better than facing two able-bodied warriors with just fists. _So maybe I’m not weaponless._

Kodlak appeared mystified by her unusual behaviour, as did Vilkas, so Eryn forcefully plastered on a smile and asked brightly, “Is there something that you need?” She _was_ a maid, after all. What more did the Harbinger need?

“Well, I was about to ask you something I’ve spent a lot of time thinking over.” _Here it comes._ “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve proven enough loyalty to have earned my respect. You are a hard worker – disciplined, obedient, and willing to follow orders. You possess the right initiative, and I’m delighted by how well you’ve kept Jorrvaskr for us. Thank you.”

Eryn was dumbfounded. This wasn’t at _all_ what she was expecting to hear. Where was the dismissal? The plan to rid of her? She could only stare back at Kodlak with open-mouthed surprise. Vilkas ground his teeth and snapped, “Well, aren’t you going to thank him?”

“W-what for?” Eryn stuttered. “I-I mean, yes that’s very kind of you to say such things but… that’s not why I’m down here, is it?”

Kodlak chuckled and stood. Eryn tensed, checking the distance between herself and the sword. Vilkas noticed and she saw him stiffen as the Harbinger drew close to her. He raised his hand, about to warn the old man, but Kodlak clapped a hand down to Eryn’s shoulder and simply uttered, “It’s time.”

“What for?” Eryn repeated at the same time Vilkas asked, “Master, you’re not truly considering accepting her?”

_Accepting me? What in Oblivion is going on here?_

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” Kodlak never broke eye contact with Eryn. “And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts. Although you’ve already fit right in, haven’t you?” Kodlak added softly. “You’ve been one of us near on a month now, isn’t that so?”

“Apologies,” Vilkas directed to Kodlak, although he was glaring at Eryn. “But perhaps this isn’t the time. What has this outsider proved other than the ability to clean and to chop firewood?”

“Menial tasks, but it was what she was capable of,” Kodlak replied. “Sometimes the grandest of warriors march through our door; others seeking greatness have approached us, too. It makes no difference. What matters is their _heart_.” Eryn’s eyes widened, suddenly realizing what Kodlak Whitemane was proposing. It was like hitting a wall of iron, and Eryn didn’t want to climb it. On the other side… there was so much…

 _So much loss_.

“And their arm,” Vilkas challenged, and Eryn snapped out of the lock of fear. She met his challenge defiantly, a fire starting to burn in her core, and Kodlak saw it.

“How are you in battle, girl?” he asked. “You’re quite capable with wielding a broom, so I’ve heard.”

Eryn answered, her eyes finding the Harbinger’s face, but her words were directed elsewhere. “I can handle myself,” she stated firmly.

“That may be so. Vilkas will take you out to the training yard and see just how well you are able to _handle yourself_.” The Harbinger laughed, as though there was a joke only he could hear, and he removed his heavy hand from Eryn’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

Vilkas rose and Eryn met the Nord’s cold gray eyes once again. A malignant humour shone there in their depths, challenging her, taunting her. Eryn bared her teeth in a grin, a familiar wickedness tainting the edges of her mind, and followed him as he headed down the hall.

If one thing was certain, Kodlak’s wish of good luck was going to be needed, but neither of them knew who it was truly intended for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the fact that Eryn had been living in Jorrvaskr for the past month, I had to change some of the dialogue to fit the scenario. I hope it reads as smoothly as I intended for it to.


	6. Blood and Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pure fun to write. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it for your pleasure. Thanks for sticking with Eryn's story this far!

Ria’s old scaled armour fit Eryn pretty well, considering that they were of similar height and build. The boots were a bit clunky though; Eryn’s feet slid around in the worn-in soles. She weighed the steel sword she’d been offered in one hand, and the dagger in the other. She would have preferred to have used two daggers, but Eryn knew the Companions were about battles, and Vilkas had already commented foully about the “tiny blade against a sword.”

Now they stood with less than ten feet between them; the Nord was smirking and the Imperial was squeezing the hilt of the sword between her fingers. If anything, Eryn was looking forward to knocking the warrior flat on his arse. He deserved it.

“The old man said to have a look at you, so let’s do this,” Vilkas said. “Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don’t worry,” he added with a sly grin. “I can take it.”

“Oh really?” Eryn’s brows shot up. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve been waiting for this for a _long_ time. Don’t disappoint,” he growled. He raised his shield and sword, then charged at her head on.

It was too easy. Eryn found herself remembering old paths and she darted out of the way, spinning with a grace she thought she’d forgotten and bashing the flat edge of the sword against Vilkas’ upper back. He swung out his shield arm and Eryn skipped around behind him, kicking him in the back of the knee. He dropped with a grunt and Eryn swooped up behind him, her sword pressing up against his throat. A fevered joy burned in her from her head to her toes. She leaned low over him and breathed in his ear, “I’d be upset if that was your best.”

“Trust me,” Vilkas chuckled. “It wasn’t.”

Eryn yelped as the shield connected with her leg and she stumbled backwards. Vilkas came at her with a roar, sword arcing down at her shoulder. Eryn dodged but turned at the last second so she was facing him. She slapped his arse with the flat of the sword and a burst of giggles escaped her lips.

“The Great Companion Vilkas, beaten by a cleaning maid. What would everyone say?” Eryn mocked gleefully. Vilkas’ face darkened and he _threw_ his shield at her. It missed and clanged to the stone, the sound echoing in the beams over the patio. He tossed his sword aside as well and gestured with his hands for her to come at him.

“If you can knock me down, then we’ll call it even,” he proposed. Eryn shrugged and laid her sword down as well, but left her dagger in its sheath. She wouldn’t need it. Although not the fondest of fist fights, Eryn had settled for hand-to-hand combat before and usually won, except against the toughest or drunkest of opponents. Sprains and broken bones really weren’t new to her, neither were bloodied noses and black eyes. She raised her fists and took up position, locking her gaze with the Nord’s.

Then they flew at each other.

Several of the Companions gathered outside to watch, drawn to the scene by the sounds of crude insults and fists smacking into flesh. Eryn gained the upper hand for a while, punching the daylights out of Vilkas and leaving his cheek and nose stained with red. She wasn’t too admirable-looking herself; her nose had gushed out over a split lip and her one eye felt filmy. Her knuckles ached with a fury but she felt alive and excited, more so than she had in a long time. It was like she’d finally woken up from a deep sleep.

“C’mon, Vilkas!” she heard Aela cry. “Drive her into the ground!” Cheers rang out, egging the Companion on, but Eryn only laughed darkly.

“You need... your friends… to help you out, huh?” she gasped between a couple of punches.

“I can manage… on my own,” Vilkas panted. He swung at Eryn’s jaw but she ducked and charged forward, driving into the warrior with her shoulder. She propelled him backwards and with an exclamation that _may_ or may not have included words colourful enough to have their mother’s after their tongues, they both crashed to the ground in a heap of blood, sweat, and armour. Eryn was on top of Vilkas and she wheezed a laugh, sitting up and keeping him pinned down as she applied her weight to his chest. She let out a howl of triumph.

“Did I win?” she asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. It came away with a thick streak of dark red. She rubbed it off in a line on his breastplate, marking her first victory. Vilkas let his head flop back and he gulped for breath, trying to fit in a chuckle.

“I fell first,” he confirmed. “Not bad, _maid_.”

“Well!” Eryn grinned happily, wincing as she stretched her throbbing lip. “Dammit. I ought to get this cleaned.”

“Here.” Vilkas sat up, forcing Eryn to slide down onto his lap, her knees wrapped around his waist. He took her chin and tilted her head, trying to look at the wound as the sun’s last rays of the day slipped below the horizon. “It looks like it’ll heal fine. Might have a little scar here-”

“I don’t care about the scars,” Eryn said quickly. She met Vilkas’ eyes and suddenly became aware of how close she was to the warrior. His face was only a few inches away, splattered with blood and splotched with purplish bruises, the one eye partly closed.

“Feel better now?” Vilkas asked.

“‘Bout what?”

“I know how angry you were. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy this,” Vilkas tried to smirk but he fell short; it obviously hurt too much to try.

“You did too.”

Unexpectedly, Vilkas reached out and brushed a light hand through Eryn’s hair where it stuck to her cheek, tangled and encrusted with blood. Someone cleared their throat and they both glanced over at the patio, where Aela was sitting with Skjor.

“Take it somewhere else, love birds,” Aela teased. Eryn stiffened and abruptly climbed off of Vilkas’ lap, embarrassed and flustered. The huntress watched her make for indoors to clean herself up, and she eyed Vilkas. “I thought you and her weren’t friends.”

“That’s what I thought,” Vilkas replied, then managed a cocky grin. “I guess a good fight is all it takes to clear the air around here.”

“You can say that again,” Skjor chuckled. He pulled Aela closer to him, gazing adoringly at the huntress with starving eyes. Vilkas rolled his eyes, wincing at that too, and went inside.

Aela pressed a kiss to Skjor’s cheek and murmured, “I think we’ve found the right one.”

“Do you think so?” Skjor turned to face her. Aela nodded, her eyes intense with a wild fire.

“She’s got spirit. Did you see the way she went at him? _Imagine_ if she were one of us. She’d be absolutely glorious,” Aela said dreamily. Skjor planted a light kiss on the side of her head.

“Oh, so you’ve found a new whelp for your enjoyment?” he asked, feigning jealously. Aela snorted and shook her head, then pulled the scarred warrior in for a deep kiss.

“No,” she responded breathily as their lips parted. “I’ve found _us_ a new whelp.”


End file.
